


Hot and Cold

by thornclaw



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Assholes fall in love, F/M, Monsters deserve love too!, this is a joke i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornclaw/pseuds/thornclaw
Summary: Eamon Guerrin and Petrice are reviled for their narrow-minded beliefs and cruelty. But what happens when you meet someone whose prejudices align with yours?
Relationships: Eamon Guerrin/Petrice
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Hot and Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I hated and loved writing this.

Eamon huffed out a hot breath onto the glass door as he stood in front of Mac Tir Beans, already frustrated with the service; the young worker cleaning the outdoor tables hadn’t held the door for him as he came down the street, though he was certain she had seen him passing the florist three buildings down. _These irresponsible young hooligans never seem to respect their elders_. He pushed open the door, placing his hands directly on the glass (cleaning the dirty door was the employees’ job, after all). He ambled to the counter, clearing his throat loudly when the barista didn’t greet him.

“Aren’t you supposed to welcome me into the store?” He said archly.

The young blonde girl behind the counter forced a smile. “Good morning, welcome to Mac Tir Beans. How may I help you today?”

“Finally,” Eamon grumbled, “Been coming here for ten years, I expect a little politeness from the people serving me. Black coffee. Nothing frilly like you advertise these days.”

The girl nodded and turned to the coffeemakers on the back counter. Eamon glanced around the shop as she did, turning as he heard the ringing of the door opening. A severe, platinum blonde-haired woman entered with eyes narrowed and her lips pursed tightly.

The woman stalked up to the counter and spoke sharply, “Black coffee. Quickly.” She opened a small coin purse embossed with the image of Andraste and slammed a handful of quarters on the counter. The barista sighed as she collected the coins, and the woman made a disgusted noise. “It's currency, isn’t it? If my coin isn’t good enough for you, I’d be happy to take my business elsewhere.”

Eamon grunted in approval. _Put her in her place_. He looked admiringly at the stranger, so bold and self-assured. _Don’t let these kids think they rule the world_. “Your store policy says you must accept all legal tender, does it not? Let the lady have her coffee and stop huffing.”

The woman gave him a tight smirk and held out her hand to shake. “Petrice.” Her hands were cold and stiff, Eamon thought appreciatively; he’d always thought warm hands were the sign of blood magic, the blood circulating to the hands and wrists rapidly for quick use.

“Eamon.”

The barista brought two to-go cups to the counter. “Two black coffees!”

The old man and the somehow not old woman broke apart and reached for their drinks. Their faces wrinkled in disgust at the taste.

“This is burnt filth!” Petrice snapped.

“I have never been so disappointed by a drink from Mac Tir’s!” Eamon raged.

“Let me speak to your manager!” They shouted in unison.

Their eyes widened as they turned to each other, ignoring the shellshocked young girl. They gave each other tight-lipped smiles as their cold hands intertwined like the legs of a supermarket squid.

Petrice bared her teeth in a shark-like grin. “Shall we try Bodahn’s Beans down the street? I hear dwarven coffee places never offer alternative milk choices.”

Eamon brushed a lock of stiff, dry hair from her face. “As it should be—only damn mage sympathizers drink soy.”

They both cackled, the sound of twigs snapping under heavy boots as they threw their black coffees on the ground and left together.


End file.
